


alive.

by cshmr



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, teen rating is just for a couple of swear words and some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25174615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cshmr/pseuds/cshmr
Summary: The DMA kept a journal.Curt finds it just a little too late.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 34
Kudos: 84





	alive.

Curt regrets pulling the trigger even before Owen hits the floor.

He watches, frozen, as his old partner falls. It takes Curt a few seconds to fully process what just happened.

As soon as he fully realizes what he did, Curt throws his gun to the ground and rushes up to where Owen’s lying. He kneels next to Owen’s head and a sob escapes his lips when he sees the bullet wound in it, even though he’s seen dozens of bodies with far worse wounds in the past. Beautiful Owen, kind Owen, amazing Owen, with a hole through his brain. It’s horrible; there’s no other way to describe it. Curt blinks back tears, not letting his emotions take over yet. He reaches out two shaky fingers and pushes them into the hollow of Owen’s neck, searching in vain for a pulse he knows probably isn't there.

_Some people can survive being shot in the head, Owen’s strong, he can do it, he can survive anything._

No pulse. He starts to repeat Owen’s name over and over; at first, he’s quiet, but the whispers quickly turn to yells, and soon his throat feels like sandpaper from screaming.

_Please, god, let him wake up._

No pulse. Curt doesn't stop. He knows that it’s been too long, if Owen still has a pulse he would've felt it by now, but to stop feels like admitting defeat, and his hands are still shaking and his throat is even rawer, but he needs to try for a little longer.

_Please, Owen._

No pulse.

_He’s gone._

The dam breaks, and the tears that have been welling in Curt’s eyes finally spill over, and soon he’s wailing, louder than he’s ever been in his life. Thousands of emotions are hitting him all at once, and he’s drowning. His breaths between sobs are getting shallower and more ragged by the minute and soon he can barely breathe. 

After a short while, the need for air consumes him and he manages to stop crying long enough to catch his breath. Curt’s tear-blurred gaze falls back onto the man lying next to him. Owen’s glassy hazel eyes are staring back at him, unseeing. Curt feels a lump in his throat. Before he has time to think, he picks up Owen’s body and clutches it against his chest. He’s still warm.

Owen smells the same as he used to, a pleasant mix of whiskey and cheap cologne, but that scent is mostly covered under a thick layer of sweat and the familiar metallic tinge that can only mean blood. Curt pulls him closer, burying his head in Owen’s hair (it’s still soft, it’s so soft). He notices something hard pressing against his leg - a bulge in one of Owen’s pockets. Letting go of Owen with one hand, he undoes the button of the pocket and takes the item out.

It’s a notebook. Small and cheap-looking with lots of scrapes and bumps on the cover, it’s worth more than its weight in gold to Curt. He wonders if he should just leave it - it’s probably private, Owen wouldn't want him looking in there. Then again, he has nothing to do while he waits for Tatiana to call, and the book might help distract him from the body he’s currently embracing. He decides to take a look.

The first few pages have what appear to be various pieces of information relating to Von Nazi’s plan: names, slogans, places. The writing doesn't look much like how he remembers Owen’s to be, though. Part of Curt is aching to put the book down - the plans inside are horrific, and this book was meant to distract him, not make him feel worse - but he keeps going. For Owen. Around ten pages in, the writing stops. Curt starts to flip through feverishly - that can't be all, it can't be.

He pauses when he notices some words in Owen’s familiar scrawl. Scanning the page, it looks like entries in a diary. He nearly breaks down again at the prospect of seeing some of Owen’s thoughts written in the same black ink he used to use to write letters to Curt, all those years ago. But he manages not to somehow, and, laying Owen’s head gently onto his lap, he starts to read.

* * *

_Day 328  
Alive.  
Boss gave me another journal. He still thinks I’m using them to plan Nazi propaganda._

_Day 329  
Alive._

_Day 330  
Alive._

_Day 331  
Alive._

The entries continue like that, each one starting with a number, followed by the word “alive”. For most of them, that’s it, so Curt starts to skim through slowly, his hands shaking. He can already tell that this won’t be the helpful distraction he hoped it would be, but he doesn't care, he needs to keep reading. It’s too important to miss.

_Day 334  
Alive.  
Ate lunch with her again. She finally said something to me._

_Day 338  
Alive.  
Boss’s birthday. They had alcohol this year. It was all right._

_Day 341  
Alive.  
My ankle is fucking killing me. It’ll never heal properly, the doctor had said after they rescued me. And she was right.  
I wish he felt the pain I feel. Maybe it’d teach him a lesson._

Curt’s stomach sinks; he has a very good guess who “he” is, and he can only hope he’s wrong. He turns the page.

_Day 345  
Alive.  
They called. Everything’s going well. Good day._

_Day 348  
Alive.  
Met with a new contact. Seems like a prat._

_Day 353  
Alive.  
Sick of wearing this mask. Also sick in general - vomited this morning._

_Day 356  
Alive.  
It happened four years ago today. There’s nothing new to say this year that I haven't already said. I hate him._

Curt’s guess was right. He already knew how Owen feels- no, felt about him, but it doesn't make it any easier to read. He looks down at Owen’s head, lying motionless on his lap. If he angles the book just right, he can hide the bullet hole, pretend that he’s just sleeping. Another sob wracks his body and punches his gut, forcing him to double over. Forgetting that Owen’s there, Curt tries to bury his head in his lap but flinches back up when he feels his skin brush against Owen’s hair. He lets the book fall to the ground and sobs into his hands instead.

After a while (it could be three minutes or it could be thirty, Curt isn't sure), he’s able to continue reading.

_Day 359  
Alive.  
She told me that she appreciates that I’m nice to her but that she won’t sleep with me. I told her that won’t be a problem. I think she hates me less now._

_Day 361  
Alive.  
The new contact is now no longer an issue._

_Day 362  
Alive.  
Someone shook my hand today like he used to. It reminded me of him. Feel like shit._

_Day 366  
Alive.  
They called. Told me I have to work faster. Threatened me. I told them I’m trying but I guess I’m not doing enough.  
I’m scared._

The ink of “scared” is smudged by what looks like a tear - whether it’s Owen’s from months ago or his own from now, Curt has no idea. He doesn't want to think about it, about anything, because if he does he’ll start spiraling again and for now, while he waits for his friends, he just needs to try and keep himself together. Ignoring the tears still rolling down his cheeks, he reads on.

_Day 371  
Alive.  
Food poisoning. Crappy day._

_Day 374  
Alive.  
She told me about her family. I wanted to tell her about him but I can't. Ever._

_Day 377  
Alive.  
Boss tried to make me learn a musical number. I refused._

_Day 380  
Alive.  
Going back to HQ for a couple of days. Pretending it’s a “family trip”. I don't think she believed me but everyone else did._

_Day 381  
Alive.  
HQ has changed a lot. Lots of new recruits which is good._

_Day 385  
Alive.  
Back. She doesn't seem to trust me as much anymore. Oh well._

_Day 389  
Alive.  
My birthday. Boss felt the need to do a painful rendition of “Happy Birthday” during lunch. That was my only present. Got drunk._

Curt pauses. Owen’s birthday is March 20th. A few weeks after his birthday is their anniversary. Obviously, they couldn't legally get married, but they had still bought rings and said their vows. The “wedding” was on the anniversary of the day they had first met.

The thought of reading the passage Owen wrote that day is painful. Curt can tell that he’s about to start crying again and he knows he needs to stop, so he decides to count. It can help distract people from pain or panic, that’s what Owen always said.

_5 things I can see. The book, the staircase, my shoes, my gun, Owen_

_4 things I can touch. The book, my pants, my jacket, Owen_

_3 things I can hear. The wind outside, water dripping somewhere, my breath_

_2 things I can smell. Metal, Owen’s cologne_

_1 thing I can taste. Blood_

The exercise helps a bit, and he feels slightly better. He suddenly notices that one of his legs has gone numb so he moves it carefully, making sure to not let Owen’s head fall to the ground.

Not that it would matter if it did. It’s not like he would feel it.

Looking down, Curt notices a wet patch just above his knee, staining his dark gray pants maroon. He gingerly touches the stain, even though there’s only one logical explanation for it. As soon as he touches the substance, he knows for sure. Blood. Owen’s blood. He quickly reaches for the journal and continues reading. It’s getting hard to make out some of the words through his tears, but he’s determined to read it all.

_Day 392  
Alive.  
Boss signed off on the castle plan. They sounded happy when I told them. I am too._

_Day 393  
Alive.  
She asked why we needed a castle. I told her it’s just a stupid status symbol for the boss. She said she doesn't believe me._

_Day 398  
Alive.  
They called. I’ll be picking it up in a couple of months. Wish they’d hurry up._

_Day 401  
Alive.  
The nightmares were worse than usual last night. A lot worse.  
I hate him._

_Day 407  
Alive.  
I saw a group of henchmen mocking her about her family. I got them to stop. She didn't thank me. I didn't expect her to though._

_Day 412  
Alive._

The following paragraph looks longer than all the others so far - it has to be the anniversary entry. Curt braces himself to read what he knows will be a cruel passage about himself, filled with scathing remarks and declarations of hate. Looking at how things turned out, he isn't sure he can blame Owen for what he’s about to read, though. Absentmindedly, he lowers one of his hands from the journal and it falls on Owen’s face. Curt cups one of his cheeks and strokes it for a second, for as long as he can until he thinks he’s about to fall apart. His hand feels slightly moist from something - tears, sweat, or blood, it could be any of the three - but he leaves it where it’s resting on Owen’s face and looks back at the page.

_It’s our anniversary, I guess. Nine years. As always, today is the day where I try to ignore what happened four years ago and say something nice about him. This year, I’m tired, so I’m going to say an easy one. He was kind. He cared about me, or at least he did a good bloody job of pretending to.  
This day always hurts. The memory of him is hard. I'm starting to get angry just writing this, but today isn't a day for anger. Unfortunately so, because I have a lot of it.  
Year nine - he is kind._

Oh. Curt rereads the passage to make sure he read it right the first time - he did. His stomach twists and he suddenly feels nauseous. Owen had called him kind. Owen, who hated him more than anything, still thought he was kind. And Curt killed him.

But Curt still thinks there’s some good in Owen, and yet Owen tried to kill _him_. It goes both ways, Curt tells himself. They both saw some good but still knew what needed to be done. Curt knows he’s just feeding himself some reassuring lies, but if the lies can keep him from breaking down again for even a minute longer, then it’s what he has to do. He keeps reading.

_Day 418  
Alive.  
They found out he’s going back to A.S.S. Apparently he thinks a few years is enough, then he can just waltz back on in and act like he didn't destroy me.  
If I find him, I will kill him._

Curt had forgotten that he asked Cynthia for his old job back the day after his and Owen’s anniversary. He had been thinking about his ex-partner a lot that day, of course, and then he decided that Owen would've wanted him to be a spy again, so he went back the very next morning. He had been wrong about that, obviously.

Curt moves his hand from Owen’s cheek to his hair. It’s a lot shorter than it used to be. It’s also covered in blood and brains, but Curt doesn't care. It’s still soft, and it’s still Owen. That’s all that matters.

He starts to feel sicker, so he turns the page.

_Day 420  
Alive.  
Smoked a cigarette for the first time in five years. Not proud, but that's what happened._

_Day 424  
Alive.  
They called. The pick-up will happen in a week. I’m just glad something’s finally happening._

_Day 426  
Alive.  
Talked to the salesman on the phone. Seems like a nice enough guy._

_Day 429  
Alive.  
She sat with me at lunch. We’re back to not talking but still eating together. It’s fine._

_Day 431  
Alive.  
He was there. He was at the deal. I nearly killed him but I had run out of bullets. I wish I could’ve killed him today. They say I’ll get my chance soon though. I can’t wait._

Curt pauses. He knows he’s nearing the end of the entries and he’s not sure he’s ready to see the final one. But he owes Owen a million debts, and he can repay one now by listening to Owen’s side of the story, so he keeps going. He has to.

_Day 432  
Alive.  
Traveling. I’m going to find him._

_Day 433  
Alive.  
I'm going to hurt him._

_Day 434  
Alive.  
She said she’s going to lure him here tomorrow and afterward she’ll get her freedom and I’ll get to kill him. I congratulated her and she thanked me. So I guess we’re okay._

_Day 435  
Alive.  
I couldn't do it. I was too weak to kill him. I hesitated long enough for her to come and save him. And then I could’ve shot him in the head but I didn’t.  
I’m useless._

Curt’s head swims with a million different thoughts at once, the loudest of which being the words _he wasn't going to kill you_ on repeat. It doesn't go both ways. Owen wasn't able to kill him.

He feels really sick now, infinitely worse than before. He still can't stop.

_Day 436  
Alive.  
Travel today. It ends tomorrow._

Curt can feel tears welling up again, but he quickly wipes them away. There’s only one left, and he has to read it.

_Day 437  
Dead.  
I normally update this in the evenings but today I’m doing it now. Because I won’t be here to write it later. The man I loved is going to kill me.  
I’m ready for it, I know it’s coming. Only one of us will survive today and it won’t be me._

Grief burns through Curt like fire through a forest, consuming him hungrily and passionately like no pain ever has before. Knowing that Owen was right, reading how defeated he sounded, seeing the word “dead” written instead of “alive” - every sentence, every word, every letter of the entry is another tree set ablaze. The hand that’s playing with Owen’s hair suddenly clenches tight, Curt’s nails digging into his palm; nearly drawing blood. He doesn't care, barely even notices. All he cares about are the words on the page in front of him.

This can't be how their story ends.

The rest of the page is blank. Curt turns it, and then the next and the next, hoping desperately that there’s more. All the pages that follow are blank too, and he’s about to give up all hope when he notices a scrap of paper tucked into the sleeve of the book. He’s about to take it out with his free hand when he remembers that it’s covered in blood. He wipes it on his pants (they’re already covered in it anyway) until it’s as dry as he can possibly make it, then he carefully takes out the paper.

It’s not a paper from the journal, Curt notices. He unfolds it. Owen’s writing is there too, and a lot more of it, words squished neatly onto the page. Curt’s eyes are drawn to his own name, right at the top.

_Oh no._

He begins to read.

* * *

_Curt,_

__

_If you’re reading this letter, I’m probably dead. So, for starters, congratulations, love! You killed me. Unfortunately for you, Chimera is bigger than me. There’s nothing you can do to stop us. And even if you do somehow succeed, your government is working on the exact technology we are. And so’s my old government, and so are dozens of governments across the world. One way or another, this is going to happen._

__

_I suppose you’re probably a bit confused about a few things, so I’ll help you out. The big thing is, of course, why didn't I just run off with the papers when I had them? Honestly, darling, I’m tired of being here. I’m tired of hiding and running and hating. I want out. Chimera had told me that once the papers were signed, I was free to deal with you how I wanted. So I figured I’d have a little fun before you helped me out, and what better way than to take you back to a warehouse almost identical to the one you killed me in? There’s no way to make you feel the physical pain I’ve felt, so I decided to play with your emotions instead. Apparently you felt guilty during those four years, but I can guarantee you didn't feel guilty enough. Look at my corpse, Curt. Can you see the fake teeth, the scars up and down my entire body, the jaw that’s a lot more crooked than before, the huge red burn scar on my torso, the ankle that doesn't work, the stitches everywhere from countless surgeries? All your fault, my dear. You’re the reason we’re in this situation right now. Your stupidity and carelessness._

__

_Now, since you've probably read my journal, there’s a couple of things in there I’d like to mention too. The reason I tried to remember something positive about you on our anniversary is really just a tradition. I started when we were happy together and I still do it now. Hating you is tiring. When you pour so much energy into something, it’s nice just to take a break every once in a while. So I pick something good, write about it, then focus on the bad for the rest of the year. I considered telling you what I picked the other eight years when I was planning this letter, but you don't deserve to hear anything nice about yourself from me._

__

_You now also know that I was unable to kill you when we had you hostage. I have no clue why. I wanted to, but I hesitated a moment too long. Pretty pathetic, isn't it love? I waited so long to hurt you and I couldn't do it. I’m happy for you, though; at least you didn't have the same dilemma about hurting me._

__

_I wonder what you've done with my body. Did you find this right after I died? Is it a couple of days later? I’d like to imagine that it’s the former and that I’m lying right next to you as you read this. You look up from this letter and see the body of the man you claim to love, dead at your own hands. And this letter too, I wonder what its fate shall be. Torn into pieces, maybe, or chucked into a fireplace. I hope you keep it. If you keep it it’ll show I meant something to you, at least._

__

_Well, this is the last you’ll ever hear from me, dearest. I hope you remember me. Whether you think of me fondly, guiltily, or hatefully; well, that's up to you._

__

_I loved you._

__

_Owen Carvour_

* * *

Curt could’ve done something. He could’ve refused to shoot, he could’ve talked Owen down, he could’ve helped somehow. It’s all his fault. Again. 

Instead of doing something, Curt merely clutches the body of his ex-lover, the man he shot and killed who wasn’t able to kill him, and he sobs, he sobs for hours until his throat aches and his hoarse cries echo endlessly into the night sky. 

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> (hello folks from the saf discord!)


End file.
